I Couldn't Save Her
by Black-Rose Marley
Summary: Jerome comes back to the house after being gone two months, and no one knows why he left. One thing is clear, though, it's changed him. Who is there to comfort him, and find out what really happened? Oneshot. Rated for safety.


I have been gone for over two months, and I have no idea what people have said about my mysterious disappearance. Last they knew, me and my...sister...had been taken out for the weekend to spend time with our newly reunited family. Now, as I walk into the house for the first time in two months, I wonder what they think.

Do they know? Is there any way they could have figured it out? No, that was impossible. Do they think I died? Do they think I got taken out to go to military school (honestly, with how I used to be, that wouldn't be a surprise)?

But no. No one knows. Which is the best news I ever recieved.

"Hey man!" Alfie greets me too cheerfully, or maybe it's just me that's changed. "We were all wondering where you've been. Why you didn't tell us you were disappearing. God, there have been so many rumors going around."

That's it. I couldn't think of a lie. I just didn't have the motivation. The rumors. That's my out. I'll agree with one of them.

"What are the rumors?" I ask, noticing my voice. It sounds dead. No emotion. I've shut down since I left, I can tell.

"Well," Alfie says after a pause, and I know he notices too. "some people say your parents dragged you out for some unknown reason. Others say you had some rare disease and were in the hospital. Some drunks said you died, but we didn't listen to them."

Drunks. Died. I know everyone sees how this simple sentence affects me. Because it's not me that's died, which makes it all the worse.

Muttering a lame excuse, I leave.

"Probably has some pranks to plan," Alfie tries to cover for me. "He has a lot to catch up on."

I wish it was that simple.

I slam my door a little too hard, and am not surprised when someone knocks softly. "Jerome," I hear a voice say. "Can I come in?"

I don't answer, but Mara comes in anyway. She doesn't say a word, just sits next to me on my bed.

"I couldn't save her," I whisper, and cry. I cry like I never have, because I couldn't believe it. She was really gone.

"Who?" Mara asks after I calm down some.

"She's dead," I say. "She's fucking dead!"

"Who?" Then her eyes widen in realization. "Poppy?"

I sigh. I can't bring myself to answer, to say it out loud, to make it real. "I did everything to protect her from our unique situation. Our mum was never there, our dad had left without a trace. I thought that, as she got older, I'd have to protect her from alcohol and drugs, sex, something she'd try because it's all she knows—" I cut off. "I never thought for a minute that she'd be in danger from a fucking drunk driver! It didn't seem like an option that something so simple could kill a girl who's been through so much already."

"It's always the unexpected," she says, but this doesn't help me much. I put my head in my hands and Mara's soft hands rub my back.

"Would Poppy want you to be sad she's gone?" Mara asks.

"How should I know, Mara? Do you want me to go ask her? She's always been so fragile, despite being practically raised by me, and if it was me, she'd feel the same way. Like it was her fault."

"It's not your fault. It's the driver's."

"No, it's mine. If I had insisted on sitting in the front, instead of letting her have her way, I wouldn't be so damn guilty."

"If it was you who died, I would be having this exact same conversation right now with Poppy. It's not your fault. She's in a better place."

"I guess. One reassuring thing about this is that she is in heaven. If our situations were reversed, she couldn't say the same for me. Especially now that I let my sister die." My voice breaks on the last word, and I can't help it. "She looked up to you, Mara. You were her role model. She told me. The night before she died. We were in my room, because there was a thunderstorm, and she absolutely hates them. And she said to me, 'When you get back, tell Mara how much you love her—'" I know Mara is processing this, but I don't pause "'—and tell her thank you for helping me find our dad. She's been a great friend to me.' I asked her why she couldn't tell you this herself, and she told me she wanted me to, because you mean so much to me. The next day as we were driving back to school, a drunk driver hit her side of the car, and she died on impact."

By this time, Mara has tears in her eyes, too. "I'm so sorry Jerome," she cries, and pulls me into a hug, which I return, burying my face in her shoulder. This feels right. I can only show my emotions to her, because I care so deeply for her. When she pulls away from the hug, she kisses me. She. Kisses. Me. And I don't have to beg or ask for it.

When she breaks away, she says, "Don't feel sad about your sister, because she wouldn't want you to. And as for the other thing you said...I love you too." 


End file.
